What It's Worth
by sparkly green nail polish
Summary: Jesse moves back to his hometown of Seattle where his life slowly falls apart. He may have survived the shooting, but now it's the living part he's struggling with.
1. Your Faces, So Unclear

**A/N: Alright - new fic. I'm still working on OTWD, but this came to me and gnawed until I sat up and paid attention. Now it may not get updated as frequently as other fics I've posted in the past but i'll do my best. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own whoever you recognise. Don't sue me. Please, that is**

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**Sweat trickled down his spine despite the cold – he tugged his long woollen coat tighter around him. He could feel his fingers shaking, fraught with nerves. All he wanted was to get home, back to his dingy little apartment where nobody could stare at him as he passed. Where he could escape the whispers that seemingly followed him around – away from prying eyes. 

He barely ventured beyond his front door these days – outside frightened him since the accident. He'd hear the sound of a motorcycle coming up the street and feel the need to dive for cover, the mere sound of a car backfiring – once something he'd have wandered over to inspect – now petrified him. It reminded him all to well of that balmy summer day back in California that had changed both him and his life forever.

He felt the first of the days rain start to drizzle down on him and scarred fingers reached up tentatively, wary of the sore muscles beneath his clothing, to tug his hat lower over his forehead. Dirty blonde hair peeked out from beneath the ski cap and his breath puffed out in front of him in a misty cloud, white against the grey of the street. He rubbed his hands together and blew on his exposed fingertips, the once callused and work hardened digits peeking from a ratty old pair of black wool fingerless gloves.

He lived in Seattle now, and while it rained a lot albeit not all that heavily, it was home to him. California was never home. Seattle, Washington was his home – where he'd grown up and although he had no family there nor friends, it was still the one place he truly felt at ease with himself. He was far from happy with the person he'd become, but he had at least accepted who he had become since the July. He wasn't a coward like the rest of them – he wouldn't run away from his problems. He couldn't anyway.

The fact that Dom had run never surprised him, nor that Mia had gone with him. Letty he expected to trail behind the siblings and Vince – well if he'd survived he was sure Vince would have run like a scolded dog too. Waking up from a three week coma to the news that a man you'd grown to view as an older brother was dead and that your family had abandoned you was hard. Vince had been in the ground for a solid two weeks when he'd first woken up. At first, he snorted to himself, burying his hands in the deep coat pockets, at first he thought that he was dreaming everything he was being told. He didn't understand why the police wanted to talk to him, couldn't get his head around it at all.

Then they'd dropped the bombshell on him. Leon – his kind, genuine older cousin, Leon who had said he'd never abandon him – he'd run too. Leon was all he'd had left when his father had been thrown into prison, his mother having died when he was young. The older boy had done so much for him – he'd fought to gain custody of him when the courts had tried to take him away, he'd been his guardian for those few years that he was still a minor even though Leon himself was only barely an adult in the laws eyes. He'd fed him, clothed him, tried ever so desperately to help him with school work and had put off his own college career to raise him.

Jesse could feel the hot burn of a tear sliding down his cold cheek as he strode down the street, tread of his boots slapping heavily against the damp pavement. He didn't bother to wipe it away, merely sniffled quietly to himself.

Leon had turned around to come back for him when he'd heard Dom telling Letty over the two way that he'd been shot – he'd ignored every protest they'd thrown at him and had turned around when he was already halfway to Mexico… Just to get back to him. The police told him that it had been painless, Leon's death. He died instantly when a truck had hit the car not two blocks from the hospital. He hadn't been wearing a seatbelt and had been thrown clear of the wreckage but the damage had already been done. His neck broke upon impact with the road.

It was ironic how a truck had stolen the lives of his two closest friends and men he'd seen as family.

He fingered the thick silver chain around his neck – one of the things they'd given him back of Leon's when he'd been taken down to the morgue to identify the body. He'd had difficulty breathing as they lifted back the sheet and exposed the deathly pale body of his cousin – once vibrant eyes closed in death and olive skin a sick shade of grey. He'd almost looked as if he were sleeping – if you ignored the gravel rash down the right side of his face and shoulder, ripping through his tattoo.

It had taken a good ten minutes for him to be able to find the strength to even nod his head slightly. His limbs had felt like lead and he had a huge lump in his throat that was restricting his breathing. All he'd been able to do was sit there and stare sickly at Leon's body, exposed from the torso up. He'd been in the morgue the whole three weeks that Jesse had been comatose. Vince had family that had been able to identify him, but Leon – he'd remained on ice and unidentified, his belongings still in that yellow envelope with a number scrawled across it in black marker.

When he'd been handed it all it contained was his wallet, the silver chain he always wore and a narrow gold toe ring. It was an unusual piece of jewellery to find on a man, but it had been a gift from Leon's first and only love. She'd passed away from cancer at the tender age of eighteen and he'd never fully recovered from the loss. Still, at least now they were together. It had taken him a bit, but he'd managed to scrape enough money together to have him buried by Megan's side. He'd been there with her the whole way – they'd been childhood sweethearts, dated all through school and he'd been right there by her side when she'd slipped away in her sleep… Jesse only figured it was fitting to have Le at her side in death too.

Rainwater was pooling here and there on the road, the sound of car tyres flying past in the wet a constant. Jesse blinked slowly. His throat felt thick just thinking about Leon and Vince – even Megan. She herself had been a big part of his life as well. She was the brains of the trio for sure, constantly fussing over both himself and Le, even when the cancer turned aggressive and she was finding herself weaker with every passing day.

"Almost home," he told himself under his breath, "-almost there now."

He flinched when someone shouldered past him, hands balling into fists in his pocket, shoulders hunched over. A dull throb spread across his chest, a slow burn that told him he'd jostled a healing muscle. It took months for damaged muscle tissue to heal in most cases, but he was healing at an exceptionally slow rate. Just when things started to look up he'd go and do something he shouldn't have and the healing process would start anew. He was beginning to wonder if he was indeed ever going to return to full health. It had been six months since he'd been shot outside the Toretto home and he was still far from rehabilitated. The only thing he'd accomplished in all that time was cutting down on the amount of cigarettes he went through a day.

He could feel his shoulders tightening at the sound of voices behind him. Someone, apparently somebody who'd been with the rude bastard that had shoved by him had fallen and he could hear shouting.

"Hey! Hey, you! Stop!"

Jesse fidgeted but didn't comply, merely kept walking. He wasn't entirely sure that it was actually **him** they were calling, but as it was coming from the general direction he himself had just come from he was assuming it was. The shouting didn't cease as he progressed down the street, it only drew closer.

He picked up his pace. He was so close to home now that he could almost smell it – the slightly stuffy, stale scent of his apartment calling him. He rubbed his hands against his thighs, hurrying along. There were footsteps behind him, falling more and more rapidly as time wore on and he started growing paranoid. Someone was following him, he was sure of it. He'd only just stopped looking over his shoulder at every turn, only just now – six months after the failed heists – he stopped suspecting everyone of being a police officer and trailing him. Figments of his imagination the doctors had told him… Now he was sure there really **was** someone after him.

"Hey! You in the black coat and cords!" a woman's voice shouted from behind him, a few paces back. He looked down at himself briefly and cursed. He was indeed wearing black cords and a knee length black woollen coat, his gloves, beanie and t-shirt all matching. His breath puffed out in a cloud ahead of him as he panted, nervous. He could see the door to his apartment building now and with the last ounce of control he had left he glanced left then right and darted between the traffic across the street.

Breaks squealed and horns sounded loudly in his wake, water splashing up over the sidewalk and against the backs of his legs. Shouted abuse floated after him but he ignored it, darting in through the revolving doors.

He didn't allow himself to breath a sigh of relief even as he felt the warmth of the old building swallow him up, the dim lighting giving the place a dark, dank feel. Slivers of light penetrated the darkness and landed in pools of white light on the old tiled floor, yellow hued light casting a glow over the corners of the foyer.

The sounds of the street grew louder for a second. "Excuse me – sir?" it was the voice that had been following him again. She sounded out of breath.

Jesse shivered and didn't even turn to look nor reply before he tore off up the stairs, forgoing the elevator. He wasn't about to stand at the bottom and wait for the rickety old thing to make its journey down to the ground floor and give whoever was following him a chance to catch up to him. His hand slid up the banister as he hopped the stairs three at a time. Leon had always bitched him out about that – skipping stairs. He could never keep up with him.

His muscles screamed at him – pectoral and abdominal – as he strained and pushed himself harder, running up three flights of stairs. His breathing was laboured and his chest hurt by the time he reached the top floor where his apartment was but he didn't care. All he was concerned about was getting back into his apartment where he was safe and sound – hidden away from the world and where he felt most comfortable.

He could hear the elevator cable rattling and out of the corner of his eye he could make out the top of the car slowing to a stop. It was one of the older style ones that had the lattice work sliding door, then another set of doors inside that had to be lifted. His fingers, numb from the cold, fumbled with his keys and he found himself bouncing ever so slightly on the balls of his toes, swearing softly as he dropped them with a clatter. He bent to scoop them up and hastily shoved the key into the lock, forcing the door open with a shove, the whole time listening to the grate and rattle of the elevator opening.

"Hey! Wait, please!"

He slammed the door shut behind him and panted heavily. It was dark in his apartment, heavy black garbage bags taped over the windows in place of curtains. He couldn't afford them at the moment and the garbage bags served their purpose just as well. The air smelled of stale coffee from earlier that morning and it was slightly stuffy in there, but it was home to him. Sanctuary.

He scratched at his forearms, fingers pushed up beneath the sleeves of his coat scraping over the pale skin that he'd hidden from the sun for so long. At his ankles he could feel a soft brushing and he could hear the purr already. His case worker from the hospital insisted that if he had a pet, a companion of some kind that he would cope better, wouldn't be so lonely. He'd taken her advice and the week before had braved the pet store and bought himself a kitten. She was a little ball of smoke grey fluff with big blue eyes not even big enough to cover the surface of his palm when sitting on it – Delilah was her name. She slept in a little carry basket on the floor by the bed. As yet she'd been unable to weasel her way **onto** the bed.

His back pressed against the door, Jesse slid down to crouch on the floor, his boots creaking against the floorboards. The apartment was all open plan – a loft apartment. He knew right away when he'd seen it that Vince would have loved it and it's rooftop balcony. The big man had loved high places. You could see the space needle on clear nights, hovering over the skyline.

Nervously he scooped up Delilah and cuddled the tiny animal to his sore chest, eyes closing as he nuzzled her soft fur. He tensed when there was a tap on the door behind him and he held the kitten closer, cheek pressed against her tiny little head. From outside there was a shuffling sound, then a sigh.

"Fine," the voice said, "- I just wanted to give your wallet back."

Jesse frowned and reached down to pat the pockets of his coat with one hand, finding they were empty. Hesitantly he unlatched the door and cracked the door open, peering nervously out into the hall. The light was flickering, but he could see a young woman, in her teens he suspected giving him a bored look. One perfectly plucked eyebrow was lifted, a dainty rainbow hoop hanging from it and her hair was in dreadlocks, mostly black with the occasional shock of blue or violet in there.

Black lined hazel eyes almost smiled at him when she saw how nervous he was and her posture relaxed slightly. She lifted her hand, wielding the tri-fold brown leather wallet.

"I believe this is yours -" She flipped it open with a click of the tongue, " – Jesse Macalister."

He swung the door a little further open and snatched it from her, holding it close to his chest. He saw her flinch and realised he was being overtly rude but he couldn't help it. She seemed to sense his discomfort and reached out with blue nailed fingertips to scratch Delilah behind the ears, smiling at her loud purr in response.

"You should be more careful you know, Jesse Macalister." She told him matter of factly. "That kid who ran into you picked your pocket." She grinned at his stunned look, revealing a cheeky grin that lit up her entire face. Her left eye tooth was slightly crooked, he noticed.

He looked at the wallet held in his trembling hand and frowned to himself. How could he have missed that? He really must be losing the plot if he hadn't felt someone reach into his pockets like she claimed they had.

"I," he murmured, shifting from foot to foot, "Um, thankyou."

She waved it off, adjusting the strap on her rucksack. The old sandy coloured canvas bag had definitely seen better days and Jesse found himself hoping she was carrying nothing valuable in there. The back corner of the bag was worn and frayed, looking as if it would burst at any given moment.

"Not a problem. The kids around here just need a good kick in the ass and they give whatever they've lifted back. They're harmless but their sense of fun is a little whack."

Jesse nodded. He'd noticed that himself, sitting on the rooftop late at night and watching them down on the street. They were never outright troublemakers, but they definitely weren't little angels either. He held the wallet up ever so slightly, turning to go back inside the cave that was his apartment.

"Thankyou again.."

"Mac. Just Mac." She supplied.

He blinked dumbly for a moment, then realised she must have thought he was asking for her name. He nodded slightly. "Right.. Just Mac.." he mumbled to himself as he went inside. She waved jovially and spun on her heel, strolling down the hall back toward the elevator, a slight skip in her step. He could see the black pants peeking out from beneath the hem of an old turquoise slip dress and she wore big chunky boots, a thick leather braid around her neck. She glanced back, fingers holding her coat sleeve down over her palm as she waved and grinned at him.

"Bye, Jesse Macalister!"

He nodded, perplexed and went back inside, slowly pushing the door closed and thanking God that that experience was over.


	2. In Life You Sink or Swim

**KangarooGirl, takerlover21, tallyz, leslienicolespeaks, Amarantha and betty-boop all kick ass because they reviewed. New chapter!

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"Alright, Mr Macalister," the clerk said as she read over the small box in her hand, "-one in the morning, and one in the evening before bed, alright? The blue one contains an antihistamine that should help you sleep."

Jesse nodded silently, glazed blue eyes watching as she stuffed his medication into a paper bag. He'd been forgetting to take it, both the ones for his ADD and his pain killers. Rightfully he should have been having them both in the mornings when he woke up, but as he'd forgotten to do so lately he didn't realise he was out until he'd remembered that morning and gone to get his pills. Three weeks he'd been without them and it was four since he should have had the scripts filled. It was no wonder he'd been more forgetful then usual.

"That'll be seventy two, fifty." The woman behind the counter told him cheerfully, her hand outstretched, perfectly manicured nails gleaming in the harsh lighting. He stared for a moment, mindlessly reaching for his wallet. He was waiting for his change, fidgeting nervously and picking at the paper bag in his hand when he felt a tap on the shoulder and he flinched almost violently, dropping his meds in the process. He was on the defensive immediately and glared behind him at whoever had the nerve to put their hands on him.

Big golden eyes blinked at him dolefully, a pretty face shrouded with black dreads. He stared at the woman for a moment then recognition hit him. It was the girl he'd met the week before… Max or Matt or something like that. He cleared his throat, looking anywhere but at her as she bent to retrieve the bag he'd dropped.

"Tense, much?" she asked dryly, offering him the bag. Their fingers brushed as he took it from her and he forced himself not to snatch it this time. He'd been more than a little rude the last time when she was only trying to help him and he'd felt rotten about it for the rest of the night.

Jesse frowned, brows furrowing as he took in her appearance. Something was different. It was cool and dreary outside that day but not overly so – just overcast with a slight breeze so her lack of a coat didn't really bother him. A purple lacy slip was worn over a pair of straight leg grey slacks, white bra strap hanging off her left shoulder. She pushed it up absently, her wrists littered with little rubber bracelets and a leather cuff. It was like a smaller version of the one Vince had worn while he was alive.

Her lips quirked, eyes shifting about nervously. "What?"

Jesse scrutinised her appearance a moment longer and that's when he realised what it was. There was a tiny jewelled stone nestled just below her bottom lip – that hadn't been there before. He didn't comment on it for a moment, merely turned back to the counter to retrieve his change and receipt then started for the pharmacy door.

"Hey, Jesse Macalister – wait there a minute! I want to talk to you."

He stopped this time knowing she'd just follow him if he ignored her and stood by the discount bin. He poked through the discontinued stock while he waited for her. Most of it was junk – make up brushes, out of date cough drops, sanitary products.. He almost grinned when he came across a bottle of midnight blue nail varnish. He couldn't remember the last time he'd painted his nails like he used to do. He'd managed to talk Vince into it once while they were drunk and the big man had gone around for days with red and black nails before he made him take it off for him.

An arm slipped around his waist and he felt her head drop against his arm. He knew right away that it was Max… or Matt.. whatever her name was, as nobody else would approach him in such a way – plus he could see the purple and black of her hair out of the corner of his eye.

"That's a pretty colour." She commented, removing her arm to take the bottle from him. "Do you wear nail polish?"

Jesse didn't even look at her as he nodded, just went back to poking through the discount bin where he found a bottle of black varnish that was missing the label and an opaque white. It looked almost like paint or liquid paper in the bottle. He looked at them for a moment debating whether to splurge and found himself once again startled as she snatched them from his hands and strolled to the counter with them. He lifted a brow at her blatant rudeness and scowled. If she'd wanted them all she'd only had to say so, but instead she'd been a rude bitch and stolen them from his very hands.

When she returned a moment later and pushed the bag into his hand with a smile he suddenly felt guilty for internally berating her.

"Present." She offered blithely, hooking her arm around his and dragging him from the store.

They had been walking for a minute or so when she let go of him and took a step aside to give him some space.

"So how are you, Jesse Macalister?"

He shrugged slightly. To be honest she was the first person who had asked him that in a very long time and he wasn't exactly sure how to answer that question. He wasn't alright, he wasn't happy and he wasn't getting any better. He just was – but she didn't need to know that.

"Alright, I guess."

She looked at him out of the corner of her eye and hummed softly, slowly strolling alongside him. Without even realising he was doing it Jesse had automatically shortened his stride so she could keep up – her legs weren't as long as his and if she wanted to talk to him he couldn't walk at his normal pace.

"How's your kitty?" she asked after a moment, trying to engage him in conversation. He could tell the silence was making her uncomfortable and he gave her props for trying so hard. Not many people would.

"Delilah," he told her quietly, "-her name is Delilah." He wrung his fingers around the folded over section of the paper bag in his hands, alternating between watching his feet and looking ahead of him.

"Delilah, then." She sounded as if she were smiling, "How is little Delilah?"

Jesse nodded. "She's good, thankyou." He glanced across at her and tapped his chin. He needn't even ask her about it – she grinned instantly and skipped slightly beside him.

"You noticed!" she sounded so excited. "I only got it done yesterday. Do you like it, Jess? Is it ok if I call you Jess?" She didn't even give him the chance to reply. "Anyway – I went home last night and the boy toy wasn't entirely rapt by it, said it looked stupid, so I've been asking all my friends what they think so I can prove him wrong." She paused. "Hopefully." She added as an afterthought.

Jesse found himself battling a smile, something he hadn't really done in a while at her excited rambling. He didn't realise how much he missed the companionship of the team – his family – until he actually had someone to talk to.

He'd spent the last six months of his life in virtual solitude. When he'd been released from the hospital he hadn't been sure what to do with himself. There was no way he could go back to the Toretto home and he didn't want to go back to living in the van behind DT either, so he'd gotten in touch with his father in prison and the old man had gotten his lawyer to set him up somewhere. He owed it all to his father, everything he had now – material possessions at least.

He'd come up for parole the month before – his father – but he'd been denied. It was the third time they'd refused to release him. Jesse had the feeling that he'd never be released as he'd never regret what he'd done, nor would he pretend he did. He was in for armed robbery, attempted murder and a volley of other things. When he did something he didn't do it half assed.

He wasn't aware he'd stopped walking until he felt Max – Matt – whoever's hand on his arm.

"Are you alright, Jess?" she asked in a soft voice, her dulcet tones soothing and welcomed. He almost felt like curling into her and just being held but he barely knew her and he wasn't about to do that to a complete stranger.

He stared at her hand on his arm, her nails still that glossy shade of peacock blue that they'd been the week before. He refused to even look up at her, nodding mechanically as he looked down toward the pavement.

"Alright then, sweetie," she didn't sound convinced but let it go anyway. "Look," she started, "-I used to have this cat, she got hit by a car though," she smiled at his sympathetic look, " – but I still have all the things I bought for her. Collars, toys, bowls.. stuff like that. Would you like it for Delilah?"

Jesse blinked dumbly at the offer. He wasn't sure what he was expecting but that was far from whatever he had been.

"Uh, well," he stammered, "H-how much?" He'd been meaning to get her all those kinds of things but he just hadn't gotten around to it. He'd forgotten to do it so many times now that it was bordering neglect.

An elegant hand waved him off, her eyes rolling. "Your money is worthless to me, Jess. If you want it you can have it." She blinked rapidly, "If you need it that is."

He nodded slightly, blinking rapidly as he struggled to find the words. His mind was racing a thousand miles an hour and he couldn't quite manage to get out what he wanted to say. He could feel her hand on his arm, slow soothing strokes against his wrist calming him slightly.

"Just take a deep breath and try again." She offered with good humour. He could tell by the look on her face that she wasn't annoyed or offended by his lack of communication skills. She waited patiently for him to do so.

Slowly, Jesse breathed in through his nose, then exhaled and tried once more.

"That's really very kind of you," he twitched his fingers slightly, picking at the bag once more, "-are you sure I can't offer you anything for it?"

"Nah – I have no use for it so I may as well give it to someone who can use it." She shrugged. "Plus, Derrick's been at me for months to get rid of it." Her expressive eyes rolled slightly. "_Mac, get this shit out of here! We don't have a fucking cat so we don't need it!_" she mocked. "Boyfriends – useless, I tell you."

Jesse smirked. At least now she'd just saved him the humiliation of having to ask her what her name was again. Mac. He jumped when she clapped her hands together and looked around as it started to drizzle.

"Well I better get going, but I shall drop that stuff over to you later. Will you be home?" He'd barely even nodded before she was backing up. "Great! I'll see you later, Jess!" And with that she was jogging across the street with her hands above her head, trying to shield herself from the rain.

He watched her for a moment then slowly turned and continued on his way home, not even trying to avoid the rain. He was past that. Needless to say by the time he got home he was soaked to the bone but he could care less. He popped a few of his pills, made himself a coffee and went and sat on the balcony to watch the rest of the day pass by.

It's all he had, if not anything else.


	3. I Still Exist In Spite Of You

**AN: Right - haven't updated in ages but here's another installment for those who are still interested. Thanks to everyone who reviewed last time... and the time before that.**

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**Mac jogged into the foyer of Jesse's building, her long woollen cardigan wrapped around her tightly, the hood up over her head. She could see her hand shaking slightly as she hit the button for the elevator and she cursed aloud. 

"Bastard." She mumbled to herself, sniffling and rubbing at her face. She couldn't have herself looking a total mess when she showed up on Jesse's doorstep.

She'd gone home after work to grab the bits and pieces she'd promised him for Delilah, fully well expecting Derrick to still be at work only to find him there already. He usually ended work around four as opposed to her at two, but she'd finished half an hour earlier than usual that day. He'd not even given her the chance to say hello, barely even time to get in the door before he was off on a tirade about her sneaking around behind his back – that was the only reason he could think of for her being home so early. She herself had made the mistake of questioning his own motives and he'd backhanded her.

She never thought the day she'd see him do that to her, not since he'd promised her he would never lay a hand on her again, but she wasn't about to hang around for him to do it again. She'd grabbed her jacket and run out of there immediately, forgetting Delilah's presents in the process. Now she had to go upstairs and explain to Jesse why she was showing up empty handed when she'd promised him the things for his cat.

Sure they barely knew each other and it wasn't like she thought he'd get upset, in fact he seemed kind of emotionless, but she'd given her word and now she had to break it. It went against her grain to do that sort of thing, but there was nothing she could do about it. She only hoped that he would understand. Somehow, Mac got the impression that he couldn't care either way.

He was an unusual guy, Jesse Macalister, she had decided, but there was something about him that made the softer side of her scream and kick until she took notice. She wasn't one of these nurturing people by nature, far from it – in fact a lot of the time she bordered on jaded and cold, but there was something about Jesse that called to her. She wasn't sure what it was, but she wanted to help him – lord knew he looked as if he needed it. The poor guy walked around as if he were on a tightrope – so nervous and so tense, constantly wary of falling off.

She didn't do girly very well, so when she'd had the urge to do it with Jesse, to take care of him her curiosity had spiked.

By the time she'd made her way upstairs, the moisture that had soaked her jacket from outside had started to seep through the rest of her clothes and she hoped to god that Jesse had heating in his apartment.

"Of course he has heating," she told herself, approaching his door, "-he'd be stupid not to."

She knocked once, then twice and three times before wrapping her arms around herself. Her jaw still ached from where Derrick had hit her, but she was almost positive it wasn't going to swell. He'd not drawn blood, just stunned her momentarily.

There was no answer after a minute or so and she knocked again, a little harder this time and took a step back from the door. Maybe he'd gone out?

She knocked once more. "Jesse?" she called through the door, starting to worry. He'd said he'd be home – well, he hadn't said he wouldn't. Plus, he knew she was supposed to be coming over that afternoon anyway.

There was a shuffling sound and a meow, then she heard the chain on the door unlatch, moments later she was met with his solemn face. Studying him, she came to the conclusion that he was either high as a kite, or he'd not slept in some time. His eyes were glassy and semi-vacant, bloodshot and red. He looked so pale, so miserable that whatever it was inside her that was drawn to him flared to life and wanted to hug him until he looked better.

He scratched the back of his head slowly, blinking. "Um, sorry. I was on the balcony." He stepped to the side, arm outstretched. "Mustn't have heard you."

Mac rolled her eyes. "Obviously." No sooner had she stepped inside did she realise that if he did indeed have heating, it wasn't turned on. The place was like a freezer and just as dark. There was some light coming from the small kitchenette off to the side, but for the most part the apartment was dark. It was only early evening so there was still visibility, but very little.

"Can we turn on some lights or something, Jess?" she looked around. The place looked barely lived in. "And open a window?" It smelled musty and the air was thick. She felt him push something furry into her hands as he brushed by her and by the feel of it she could tell it was Delilah. He must have been holding her when he'd answered the door.

"Right, sorry." He mumbled, somewhat embarrassed. "Lights."

A soft amber glow filled the apartment after a moment and Mac found herself in envy of him. The apartment had so much potential. She watched him make his way across the windows and shove one open a little bit, then he turned back toward her. Now they were in better light she could see the kitten in her hands and she cooed to it, scratching its little ears.

He was staring at her when she looked up. "What is it?"

He brushed his hand over his own jaw. "You've got a red mark," he squinted, "-are you alright?"

She nodded, shrugging out of her wet jacket and hanging it over the back of a nearby chair. "I'm fine." She told him, "I know I said I was going to bring some stuff over for Delilah but I was already halfway here before I realised I'd forgotten it."

Jesse shrugged limply. "S'ok. It's not important."

Mac bristled at his lacklustre response. "Of course it's important, Jess. I gave you my word." She froze when she saw him tense and realised her tone wasn't helping him. "Shit – Jess, I didn't mean to snap. It's just I'm a woman of my word – it shits me that I have to break it is all." She set Delilah down on the couch and walked over to him, fully intending to give him a light hug to apologise. One could only imagine her horror when she felt the clothes he was wearing were damp and upon inspection the very same ones he'd been wearing that morning when she'd seen him. He'd not gotten changed and had been in wet clothes for hours.

"My God, Jesse! Do you have a death wish or something?" She snapped, tugging his coat from his arms. She was saddened by how thin he was underneath, then worry took over. If he was so thin and in wet clothes he was more susceptible to illness. Plus he obviously wasn't well as he'd had prescriptions filled that morning. Ignoring his quiet protests, Mac ran her hands across the back of his neck then forehead and was disturbed when she felt the warmth there.

"Go and have a hot shower, Jess – a nice, long hot shower and I'll fix you something to eat."

He squirmed, gently prising her hands away from him. "You don't have to do that," he argued weakly, "I'll be-"

"No arguments – Go shower and I'll make you something to eat."

Jesse flinched. At that very moment, the tone she'd taken with him and her stance, she reminded him of Letty. When any of them had been sick, Vince had been the worst as he'd never admit it, she had been the one to take care of them. During cold and flu season she was the one who would force feed them their pills and cough medicine, sit with them when they couldn't sleep and wipe the backs of their necks with a damp cloth when they were sick. Mia never had the stomach for it – cleaning them up after they'd vomited. It was always Letty.

He blinked rapidly and rolled his shoulders, caught up in memories. He could feel the lump beginning to form in the back of his throat when he though of her and how the one time when Vince was really ill she sat at his bedside and read him articles from Playboy. He didn't know of any other woman that would have done that for one of them, let alone a two hundred pound horn dog recovering from an appendectomy. She was one of a kind, Letty. Always one of the guys but the team mother when she needed to be. She was the only one alive that he truly missed. He wondered how she was coping with the news of Vince and Leon's death wherever she was.

"Jesse," Mac's voice was quiet, "-sweetie go and have a shower." Her hand was on his arm, gently urging him across the open space toward the bathroom. He looked down at her hesitantly and saw nothing but worry etched onto her pretty face. She shooed him slightly and turned toward the kitchen.

"Go on Jess – before I push you in there myself."

He could tell by her tone that she would do it too, so he went and gathered some clothes to dress in afterwards and locked himself in the bathroom.

Mac sighed as she heard the shower start. It was no wonder he was so pale – the poor guy was a mess. For a moment there he'd looked as if he were off with the fairies, then as if he were about to cry. She'd been worried that he was about to crumble for a second, then his face had taken on that impassive mask again and he'd moved off to the bathroom.

Delilah curled against her chest as soon as she picked her up, purring loudly with her chin over her pulse point. She loved how kittens did that. They'd always lay where they could feel a heartbeat and Delilah was no exception.

"We're going to make your daddy all better, Delilah. We are." She dropped an errant kiss on the cat's head and went about finding something to make him. She was mortified when she came to discover he had little to no food in the apartment. Out of all his cupboards and the fridge, her search produced a rather sickly looking lump of something that she was guessing used to be lettuce, a couple of stale biscuits and a half eaten loaf of day old bread.

"For God's sake, Jesse," she muttered to herself, "-what the hell have you been living on?" She couldn't believe the lack of food. Either he'd been eating a lot of take out, or he'd not been eating at all. Sure he came across as forgetful but surely he couldn't have forgotten to eat..

Delilah was still cuddled up in her arms, purring as she slept against her breast and she didn't have the heart to wake her. She nuzzled the tiny kitten, carefully making her way over to the bathroom door before knocking.

"Jesse," she waited for some kind of response and went on when she heard his grunt, "-you've got no food so I'm just going to duck down to the store and grab something, ok? I'll be back in ten and I'm taking Delilah with me."

There was silence for a moment, then she heard his quiet voice. ".. Alright."

* * *

When she got back, Mac was pleased to see Jesse out of the shower and warmly dressed, wrapped up in a blanket and laying on the couch. He didn't even look up when she came back in – just lay there staring off into space. 

"Jess," she set the bag of food down on the table in the kitchen, then took Delilah out of her pocket and carried her over to him, "-here's your girl."

He blinked slowly, then large hands reached out and cradled her gently in them, tucking her beneath the blanket with him. Unable to resist Mac reached out to touch his head, her thumb brushing his messy blonde hair away from his forehead so she could feel it. He was still warmer then she'd have liked him to be, but there was nothing to be done about that at the moment.

Pale blue eyes watched her every move. "Why are you doing this?"

Mac shrugged. "You're not well. I figured I'd help out." She purposely avoided answering in great detail and went in to the kitchen to start his dinner. She'd figured a good hearty stew would warm him up inside and fill his belly. He was definitely malnourished and needed all the help he could get. Plus the longer she was there the more time Derrick had to calm down and get over whatever had brought on his behaviour that afternoon.

It didn't take long at all to get dinner going and Mac found herself standing in the middle of the kitchen wondering what to do next. The place was fairly tidy, but having it all open plan meant that when the cold seeped in, it did so with a vengeance. It felt colder in there now then it had before.

"Jesse – do you have a heater?" Even as she was asking him she was looking around.

"Im my room," he mumbled, face pressed into the pillow he'd dragged out to the couch, "- do you want me to get it?" He was sitting up now, looking fully prepared to move and do as he was told. Mac instantly got the impression that he was more a follower and if he was ordered to do something, he'd do it. Figuring this could work to her advantage with him, she nodded and smiled at him in what she hoped was an encouraging manner.

"Could you? It's freezing out here and it'd be good if we could warm the place up for you."

He nodded and was on his feet almost instantly, long legs carrying him into his bedroom off to the right. There was some scraping sounds and a clatter, then he reappeared with a free standing heater that plugged into the wall. Once it was set up he returned to the couch and curled up with Delilah once more, eyes staring blankly at the television set.

Mac bent over the back of the couch to tuck the blanket up higher over his shoulders. She didn't really know Jesse or anything about him, but she had made her decision. He needed help and someone to be there for him – so that's what she'd do. If it meant dropping in every day or so to make sure he was eating and taking care of himself she would do it, no hesitation.

Going back into the kitchen to check the stew, she spotted the small bag she'd given him that morning with the nail varnish in and picked it up. She plucked the blue from the bag and set the others back down on the table, then walked out and sat on the coffee table in front of him. He blinked up at her with a look of confusion on his face and when she held up the bottle, he bit his lip.

"I.."

Mac rolled her eyes. "Come on, Jess – may as well use it." She pat her knee and motioned for his hand, smiling at him when he tentatively complied. One look at his hands told her that before whatever had made him this way happened, he worked with his hands a lot – there were small scars here and there and the occasional roughened patch where calluses used to be. She didn't question it though. He seemed more then happy to remain in silence – completely uncomfortable with talking to other people.

_Fair enough_, she thought, _I'll just do the talking then_.

As the first coat of the iridescent dark blue went on she asked questions, occasionally she'd get an answer, but more often then not he would just stare off into nothingness. All she'd managed to get from him was that he'd been born in Seattle, lived in California for a while and he was an only child whose father was in prison. It wasn't polite to ask for details about things like that, so she left it alone and went to check on dinner once more. She was still in the kitchen when she heard a knock on the door, then a moment later the lock flipping and a man's voice.

"Well hello, Jesse! You're actually in tonight – the last few times I've been around you've not been home."

Mac peered around the corner, brow quirked. She didn't know much, but she knew that Jesse wasn't the going out type. Whoever the suited man standing in the living room was, he was full of it. He wasn't all that tall – she knew that if he were standing Jesse would tower over him – and he was thin, wearing a grey suit and wire framed glasses. He looked like some kind of paper pushing know it all.

He sat on the coffee table where she had been sitting not five minutes before and folded his hands in his lap. Mac found herself biting her tongue to refrain from laughing at the pompous weed.

"How are you, Jesse? Doing well I trust?"

Jesse said nothing at first, merely shrugged and pushed his blanket down a little. "I'm hot." He mumbled irritably, long legs kicking at the covers.

The man, whoever he was reached forward to help. "Well then, you don't need this over you if you're hot."

Mac's temper started to boil. "Jesse Macalister if you throw that duvet off I will hit you over the head with a saucepan. Put it back over you this instant!" She wielded the wooden spoon she'd been using to stir the dinner at him and he baulked, doing as he was told immediately. The man stood up, looking from Jesse to Mac a few times.

"And who is this?" he asked Jesse, walking around the couch with his hand outstretched.

"Mac." Jesse responded, eyes wide as he took in the rigid stance of his new friend, at least he was under the impression that they were soon to be friends at least.

Mac fixed the approaching weed thin man with a stern glare. She didn't like the way he'd been talking to Jesse – it wasn't the words he was saying, it had been the tone he'd been using. Like he thought Jesse was some kind of idiot or something.

"Mac," the man said with a false, clinical smile, "- my name is Preston Andrews. I'm Jesse's case worker."

Mac ignored his outstretched hand. "You're the one who's supposed to be making sure he's taking care of himself? Eating, taking medications, paying the bills.."

He nodded. "Yes, that's right."

She stared at him for a moment, then threw her hands up in front of her and shoved him backward toward the front door, snatching the key in his hand at the same time. As she pushed him toward the door she was ranting.

"You miserable poor excuse for a social worker – how fucking dare you come in here and treat him like some sort of handicapped moron! I don't know who the hell you think you are or how the hell you managed to qualify, but it's damn obvious you've not been doing your job when it comes to Jesse! Get the hell out and don't come back – I'm taking care of him now!"

She slammed the door behind the spluttering man and spun on her heel, freezing as she was caught in Jesse's gaze. He was staring at her in shock, but there was a hint of admiration behind those blue eyes as well.

She shifted uncomfortably. "You don't mind do you?" she asked uneasily, a little short with him.

Jesse shook his head wordlessly, Delilah held gently in his large hands.

Mac nodded. "Right then," her words were clipped, "- come and get some dinner."


End file.
